


Mineshaft II

by lookninjas



Series: Children's Work [3]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cults, End-of-the-World Theology, Fasting, Gen, Implied (and Mostly One-Sided) Ben/Poe, Manipulation, Militia Movement, Religion, Religious Abuse, Religious Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 21:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6924382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was always the only ending.  Hux couldn't do it for him.  His mother, Poe, the Lenawee County DA's office - they couldn't find a way around it.  </p>
<p>Sooner or later, Ben was going to have to face Snoke again.</p>
<p>If they were sitting in chairs at a conference table rather than on some sort of battlefield, well.  That didn't change much.  It didn't change what Ben had to do.  Tell the truth, and shame the Devil.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mineshaft II

It's hot and stuffy in the little attic room; every inch of Kylo's skin is sticky with sweat.  His tongue feels too thick in his mouth, like it could choke him; his throat is so dry it aches.  He doesn't want food, not anymore, but _water_.  Even just a little.  Even just one sip.  
  
Christ fasted forty days and forty nights.  Kylo's only fasted fourteen hours.  He'll endure.  
  
"Eyes closed," Snoke tells him, and Kylo doesn't think he's opened his eyes but he must have or the rebuke wouldn't have come.  Or at least he must have thought of it; these things are the same, with Snoke.  He sees so much.  He sees everything.  "Breathe, deeply.  In and out.  In...  and out."  
  
Phantom hands press against Kylo's ribcage, fingers spreading out.  Digging in, the way Snoke's so often do.  Kylo swallows hard but doesn't open his eyes, doesn't move, doesn't flinch.  Stays perfectly obedient, kneeling with his hands flat on his thighs, breathing, breathing.  In and out.  In and out.  
  
It's a memory, of course, or just imagination. Snoke isn't behind him. Is he?  His voice came from elsewhere, before.  He can't be --  
  
"Deeper."    
  
The voice is so close that it stirs his hair.  Panic claws at Kylo for a second, making his breath catch, and Snoke sighs, hands squeezing at his ribs.  Any harder, he'd leave bruises.  
  
"Breathe, child.  Focus and breathe."  
  
Kylo breathes.  Shallow at first, then deeper.  Ignoring the hands pressed to his sides, the body so close behind his, the hot breath on his neck.  Pretends there's no one at all behind him.  His back is to a wall, protected and secure.  He is calm.  He is so calm.  
  
"Good.  Eyes closed.  There' s nothing here but darkness.  Let it close in on you.  Let it swallow you."  
  
No thirst, there, in the darkness.  Hot and close and still and safe, sacred.  No hands in the darkness.  No voice in the darkness.  No voice but God's.  
  
"Deeper."  
  
He goes deeper and deeper until there's nothing left.  Not even Kylo Ren.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"Ben."  
  
A hand on his shoulder -- familiar, not unwelcome.  He still feels a shudder course through him, shaking off that touch like a dog shaking off water.  His hands fall away from his face, but he can't quite manage to make himself look up when he says,  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
_Picking himself back up, jaw throbbing, ears ringing faintly.  Spitting blood into the dirt.  They'll never respect him unless they see what he can take.  He's young.  He's strong.  He can take a lot._  
  
_"I'm fine.  Keep going."_  
  
"Ben."  There's an edge to Poe's voice that pulls Ben back from... wherever he was, memories mostly.  The field out past the firing range, hot sun and men standing in a ring around him.  Training, preparation for the future.  For the war.  The men always tried to pull their punches.  He never let them.    
  
_They won't respect you until they see what you can take._  
  
Ben could take a lot.  That's how he's still here.  
  
He looks up, sees Poe staring down at him with round, dark eyes.  Poe's been the model of composure through everything -- sitting at Ben's side for every interview with the DA and the ADA, driving him to and from every meeting with the psychiatrist, keeping him upright through all the long weeks of preparation for this last test, the deposition.  Through it all, he's been entirely calm, not the least reaction no matter what Ben said or how visibly it cost him.  He's cracking now, a little.    
  
It's probably not Ben's fault, but he still feels like it is.  
  
"Sorry," he says.  He straightens in his seat, looks around the conference room.  The camera's gone, as are the DA and the ADA and the court officer, Snoke and his lawyer and the prison guards who'd flanked them.  Just the bank of windows looking out over the parking lot, the florescent lights and the blank white walls, the beige carpet and the long table and the red plastic chairs.  
  
He tries to remember if they went through everything.  If he said it all.  It doesn't seem like he did, but he's not really sure.   "So, it's...  It's over?"  
  
Poe reaches for his shoulder again, but stops, hand hovering but never quite landing.  "For now," he says.  "There's still a possibility the court will grant the motion for a new trial, but...  I don't think it's very likely.  You did well."  
  
_You did very well_.  It was never as satisfying as he wanted it to be, those words in that dry voice.  He tried so hard to believe it was enough.  It never was.  
  
"They didn't ask about the gun," he says.  He doesn't think they asked about the gun.  They might have asked about the gun.  He's drawing a blank.  "Did they?  The gun, the car, the -- the mission; they didn't --"  
  
"They did."  Poe crouches down next to him, rests a hand gently on his knee.  Looks at Ben like he's waiting for him to flinch, but Ben doesn't.  He doesn't need to.  He's not sure why; he just doesn't.  "Eventually.  You were kind of on autopilot by then.  It's been a long day.  But you did fine, Ben.  You did just fine."  
  
It still feels like he's forgetting something, something important.  He doesn't want to do this again.  He's not entirely sure he could.  "Rey?" he asks.  "Did we talk about Rey?  Because we thought they might --"  
  
"I guess they decided that wasn't a good plan of attack," Poe says, eyes still carefully monitoring Ben's every facial expression.  "That's how these things go sometimes.  But listen, Ben.  Snoke had his chance to ask you anything he wanted.  Now it's over.  If there's anything he missed, tough.  He doesn't get another chance unless his appeal is granted, and frankly, I don't think that's gonna happen.  It's over.  You were great.  You should probably eat something now."  
  
He used to fast, when he was still with the First Order.  Sundown on Saturday to sunup Monday morning.  Longer, when he was struggling with something.  Back then he thought it was clarifying his thoughts.  Purging him of confusion.  He thought a lot of stupid things back then.  "I have a Clif bar," he says, and looks around for his bag.  "I had it --"  
  
Poe's hand catches his cheek and pulls him back so they're eye-to-eye again.  His other hand is still on Ben's knee.  Ben can still breathe.  It seems very strange.  "We had to leave your bag in the car this time," Poe reminds him.  "Because of Snoke.  And when I said you should eat something, I meant you should eat an actual meal.  Clif bar's not going to cut it.  Let's go get some dinner."  
  
There is a reason this is a bad idea.  It takes Ben an inexcusably long time to remember it.  "My parents," Ben says.  "Rey.  Uncle Luke.  They're waiting.  I don't want them to worry --"  
  
"I've already texted them to let them know I was going to feed you before I brought you home."  Poe's hand falls away from Ben's face and lands lightly on his arm, just above the watch he borrowed from his father.  One of his mother's hair ties is tight around his other wrist; the flannel shirt he's wearing was a Christmas gift from Rey.  Uncle Luke fastened the cross around his neck just before the deposition.  All of it armor, all of it designed to keep him safe.  He's still breathing; it must have worked.  "Ben," Poe says again, fear still edging his voice.  "I don't think you want them to see you like this."  
  
"That bad, huh?"  He almost sounds like himself when he says it.  
  
Poe's fingers close around Ben's wrist, squeezing gently.  "Honestly?  You look like shit.  And if Rey sees you like this, she's gonna kick my ass and that is not idle talk, Ben.  She's tougher than me.  She will kick my ass.  Please don't let that happen.  I'm a good man.  I don't deserve it."  
  
Rey's not going to kick anyone's ass, not even Ben's.  But she would worry, and that's worse.  She's spent enough time worrying over him.   Thirteen years, almost.  And she'll worry anyway, no matter what, but he doesn't need to give her more reasons.  
  
"You owe me," he says and pushes himself carefully to his feet.  The light-headedness is more pronounced now; he feels further away from the floor than usual.  He really does need to eat something.    
  
Poe steps back just for a moment, letting Ben find his feet on his own.  When Ben finally manages to start walking, Poe reaches out again to put a hand on his back, then hesitates.  Frowns.  
  
_The small of my back.  My shoulders; the tops of my arms.  Sometimes, when I was meditating, he'd put both hands on my ribs or my back, to feel how I was breathing._  
  
Snoke's eyes gleaming at the memories, the smile stretching across his face.  
  
Poe takes his hand, twines their fingers together.  Ben glances down, bemused.  
  
It feels fine, is the thing.  It feels absolutely fine.  
  
"Just remember," Poe tells him, and squeezes his hand.  It's still a little strange, standing next to Poe now.  He used to be so much taller than Ben.  Now it's the other way around.  It's not helping the dizziness any, that's for sure.  "He was wrong about you.  He was wrong about you then, and he's wrong about you now.  You're so much better than he's giving you credit for."  
  
"I know," Ben says.  It isn't a lie.  He has faced down everything Snoke has thrown at him, and he's still here.  Spitting blood, maybe.  Dizzy, definitely.  But still standing.  
  
_I'm fine.  Keep going._  
  
"All right," Poe says, and starts tugging him towards the door.  "So, food.  Alpha Koney?  If you're not sick of it yet."  
  
"Sounds fine," Ben says, and lets Poe lead him out of the room, down a narrow, empty hallway (he wonders, briefly, about press conferences, about briefings, but he's pretty sure that if he's not in fit state to see his own family yet, he's definitely not camera-ready, so even if he's supposed to be somewhere else, Poe's already canceled it), and out to the parking lot.    
  
The sky is pale blue at the top, yellowing around the edges.  It has to be at least eight o'clock, maybe later.  _You've had a long day_ , Poe told him.  He wonders just how long it was.  Ten hours, at least?  Probably longer.    
  
Even when he was with the First Order, he can't recall spending that much time in the same room as Snoke.  Four or five hours, maybe.  Once, they spent six hours praying together.  Ben had already been fasting, probably twelve hours at least, maybe longer.  Snoke's hands on his shoulders, slipping down, spread across his ribcage to feel him breathing.    
  
_Deeper. Deeper.  Good._  
  
He'd gone so far inside himself to get away from Snoke's hands that he came out speaking in tongues, head swimming with visions -- the sky on fire, the men from the field standing around him, blood on their knuckles, dripping on the ground.  Pushing himself to his feet, so tall, towering over everyone around him.  He'd taken all he needed to take.  He'd proven himself.  He was more than they would ever be and underneath that blazing sky they knelt all around him, then rose as he did.  Reborn.  He walked away on his own two feet, and they followed him.  They would always follow him, now.    
  
And Snoke listened to every confused word and smiled that thin smile at him, told him _You did very well_ in that dry voice.  
  
A week later he handed Ben a gun and told him he'd soon be asked to use it.  
  
Then everything fell apart, and he grabbed Rey and he ran, and he never saw Snoke again until today.    
  
Ten hours in the same room with that smile, with the memory of those hands on his shoulders, his arms, his back.  
  
If it wasn't for Poe, still holding his hand, waiting and watching with that carefully blank expression, he'd wonder if he was having visions again.  
  
"Sorry," he says, for lack of anything better to say.  "Guess I should probably eat something, huh?"  
  
The look Poe gives him then makes it abundantly clear just how close his control is to slipping.  How close he is to saying something they'll both regret.  Like _I'm sorry_.  Like _I should have been there_.  Like _I should have stopped him_.  
  
But he doesn't.  He just pulls on Ben's hand again, leading him towards the car.    
  
_Keep going._  
  
  
*  
  
  
The end of the world doesn't wait until December.  It comes over seven months early, April 11, when Ben finally manages to pull himself away from the lunch rush to investigate the insistent buzzing of his phone.  Three missed phone calls and a voicemail -- two of the calls are from his mother's office line, one from his father's house, and he's shaking before he's even slipped out into the unusually hot April weather to actually listen to his message.  
  
It's brief, just his mother telling him to call back as soon as he can.  But the sound of her voice, so much raspier than he remembers it, scratched and worn from thirteen years of living, tells him everything he didn't want to know.  
  
He calls her anyway, squinting in the bright light, his skin burning and the rest of him ice cold, one arm folded around himself, phone pressed to his ear, shaking and shaking and shaking.    
  
He is still shaking when he finally makes his way back into the even more intense heat of the kitchen, his work shoes leaving a trail of sand from the back parking lot on the greasy floor.    
  
He puts his apron on over his sweat-soaked clothes and goes back to ladling chili into styrofoam bowls and wrapping sandwiches in plastic, and it's probably his tenth or eleventh customer that takes one look at him and asks, "Are you okay?"  
  
The next thing he knows, he's sitting on a pickle bucket with a damp towel wrapped around his neck and one of the girls from the registers (Ellie, with her curly blonde hair and her quick smile and the pack a day cigarette habit he wishes she would just give up) is asking him, "Is it Rey?  Did something happen?  I could drive you to the school.  I could..."  
  
"It's not Rey."  But then he doesn't know what to say it is.  He's gotten used to lying, maybe even gotten good at it over the last few years, or at least a few highly specific lies.  The dead mother.  The asshole stepfather.  The few vague details that hold his new life together.  It's all going to fall apart, now.  Everyone's going to know everything.  About him, Rey, the First Order --  
  
Ellie stares at him for a long time, then walks away.    
  
Dougal takes her place, crouching down in front of him with a sweating bottle of Gatorade.  The white one -- Ben was never really sure what flavor that was meant to be.  "Here," he says.  "For the dehydration."  
  
"I'm not dehydrated," Ben says, but he takes the bottle, even sips absently at it while he waits for his brain to come back online.    
  
The deli starts moving around him, slowly at first, but picking up steam as they go along.  Five years he's worked there, ever since they moved to the little house out in Cross Village.  For the last two he's been managing the kitchen.  In at five, out by three.  It lets him go to most of Rey's track meets and all of her band concerts.  They can cook dinner together and watch old movies on the couch when she doesn't have more important things to do.  It's a good life.    
  
It's been a good life.  
  
Now it's going to have to go on without them.  
  
Some time later -- he could never say, really, exactly how long -- the door jingles and Rey steps in, cheeks flushed and hair falling out of its loose braid, glancing around frantically before Ellie points her to Ben, still sitting on his pickle bucket with the Gatorade bottle already gone lukewarm in his hands.  A few hurried strides later, she's standing in front of him, staring down at him wide-eyed, and he feels suddenly incredibly small.    
  
"Excuse me," someone calls from the other side of the store.  "Could I get some service please?"  
  
Ben just stares up at Rey.  She looks so frightened.  He can't fix it.  He can only make it worse. 

"Shouldn't you be at school?" he asks, like if she just goes back and finishes out the rest of Spanish class, this will all be undone.  They can go back to their simple little life, at least until Rey graduates and they have to start planning for Ann Arbor, for her freshman year of college and all those next steps they've been trying so hard not to consider.  But even then, they'll still be Ben and Rey Keller.  They won't have to go back.  They won't have to face it.  
  
But Rey just stands there, looking at him with her arms folded across her chest, until something in her seems to snap and she reaches down, catches him just above the elbows, her hands tight on his sweaty skin, and pulls him up.  
  
He drops his Gatorade and the bottle rolls across the floor, a trail of sticky sugar water in its wake.    
  
"That's going to need a mop," he says.    
  
"I'm taking you home," Rey says, and starts pulling him to the back door, her hand wrapped tight around his wrist.  The towel falls off the back of his neck and lands in the puddle of spilled Gatorade with a wet thwack.  
  
"Wait," Dougal calls, and the customer at the deli counter snaps,  
  
"I said excuse me young _man_ \--"  
  
But Rey stops, and waits, until Dougal hustles up with a cup of chili with the lid snapped down tight, and a plastic soup spoon.  
  
"He didn't eat anything today," he says.  "His blood sugar's probably low."  
  
"My blood sugar's fine," Ben says, and Rey rolls her eyes at him.    
  
"Thanks, Dougal," she says, and takes the chili from him.  "I'll make sure he eats."  
  
"I know," Dougal says, and then reaches up to pat Ben on the shoulder.  For some reason, Ben's not sure why, he flinches away from the gesture.  Dougal gives him a wounded look, but doesn't say anything other than, "Feel better, Boss."  
  
Ben nods at him, then lets Rey drag him out into the back parking lot.    
  
"Give me your keys," she says, pulling him relentlessly toward the car.  "I'm driving.  You're not safe like this."  
  
He was never safe.    
  
No, that's not fair.  They did pretty well.  Thirteen years, that's a long time.  Better than he thought they'd do.  
  
"My mom called," he explains, patting down the pockets of his jeans for his keys.  Right front, just where they always are.  His fingers feel so thick, so clumsy, that he can barely manage to pull them out.  "I can't --  We need to talk, Rey."  
  
"You need to go home and drink some fluids and eat your chili and then lay down somewhere dark for a while," Rey says, voice terse in a way it always is when she's really fucking scared.  "We'll talk after."  
  
There isn't going to be an after.  In a lot of ways, there isn't even really a now.  There's just rubble.  Everything is falling apart, and when it finishes, they will have to start all over again in a world that is completely foreign.  All they have now is _before_.  
  
He probably shouldn't try to tell Rey any of that right now. 

Anyway, she must see some of it in his eyes, because her face softens.  "Hey," she says, and reaches up to thread her fingers into his hair, pull him down for a quick kiss on the cheek.  "It's gonna be all right.  Whatever it is, it's gonna be all right."  
  
He can't possibly imagine how that could be true, but it's probably a bad time to question her.  He just stands there, staring down at her, until she pushes the chili into his hands and opens his door for him, waiting there until he sighs and climbs up into the truck.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"You have to eat something."  
  
Hux climbs onto the bed next to him and Kylo wobbles precariously, almost breaking position, but he manages to hold himself steady somehow.  It's because he's stronger now, of course.  He's stronger than he ever was.  When he's through, he'll be able to do anything.    
  
He'll be what Snoke showed him.  
  
He'll be the rider on the red horse.  
  
"Are you listening to me?"  Hux's voice in Kylo's ear, still strangely distant.  He feels so far away; Kylo could almost forget they were in the same room, let alone on the same bed.  It's like he's floating now, flying away.  Rising, perhaps, is the better term.  He'll be so strong when he's finished.  He'll be so very strong.  
  
"Ben!"  
  
Kylo's eyes fly open; he can hear Snoke rebuking him.  _Eyes closed._   Shuts them tight, perfectly obedient to his Leader, no matter how far apart they are.  "That's not my name."  
  
"Fine.  Kylo."  Hux says the name with such disgust.  Jealousy, probably.  Kylo is so far above him now, rising, rising.  Hux could never catch up.  "You need to eat.  Now.  _Kylo._   If you don't eat something --"  
  
"I'm fasting," Kylo reminds him, and immediately hates himself for breaking enough to entertain the conversation. He won't say anything else to Hux, not even to remind him that Christ fasted for forty days and forty nights. Kylo hasn't yet fasted four days. But he's close; he'll be there soon. It's the longest he's ever managed.  
  
He's come so far.  He still has so far to go.    
  
"You've fasted enough."  Hux sounds so angry.  Always so angry.  Poor little Hux, who will never understand.  "Or are you so afraid of not hearing God that you're willing to kill yourself to get that much closer to the Voice?"  
  
"I hear Him just fine."  Another lapse.  But it's true, he hears Him.  Hears Him all the time.  That constant Voice in his mind, telling him:  He can't save them.  He can't save anyone.  There's nothing left but to burn it all down and start over.  If he has to burn himself first, well.  Christ was crucified, too.  He'll be reborn.  He'll be stronger.  
  
He'll rise.  
  
"Ben."  That name again.  "Ben, please --"  
  
Kylo could throw Hux through a wall.  He does not.  Later, maybe, but for now he does not.  "That's not my name," he says, and keeps his eyes closed, keeps still.  Obedient to Snoke's will, as always.  Listening.  
  
"Fine."  Disdain.  Fury, tightly repressed.  Jealousy, again.  Hux clambers off the bed, rocking it so badly that Kylo has to move one hand to catch himself before he falls, face-first, into the mattress.  "Don't listen to me.  Doesn't matter.  You'll listen to someone."  
  
He already is listening to someone.  He's listening to God.  No one else can command him, except Snoke.  And this is what Snoke told him to do.  
  
_Pray on it.  Fast, if you need to.  Listen to the Voice.  Let Him guide you._  
  
The door slams shut, and for a moment, Kylo feels -- regret?  Sorrow?  Fear?  
  
It doesn't matter.  Soon he won't feel anything.  Soon, he'll be perfect.  
  
He returns his hand to his thighs.  He keeps his eyes closed.  He breathes.  
  
He shouldn't have talked to Hux.  Shouldn't have let his concentration break.  He'll have to start all over, now.  
  
He will.  He'll start over as many times as is necessary.  He won't stop until his will is finally bent to God's.  Until he's ready to do what must be done.  
  
  
*  
  
  
He's getting used to eating while Poe stares at him.    
  
There were moments, when he was younger.  Some picnic or backyard barbecue or New Year's party -- not the dress-up ones, with real china plates and classical music and someone getting too drunk in the corner and everyone else averting their eyes, but the ones that were just family, and laughing, and The Twilight Zone playing on and on for hours in the other room.  Ben started eating like a horse about the time he turned eleven, when he went from tallish to enormous and from lanky to bony, and most of the time he didn't care but sometimes he would look at Poe and it would just be...  hard.  He couldn't say why, exactly.  Poe ate too, the same as anyone else.  Ben had been watching Poe eat for years, just as Poe had been watching him, because they knew each other and spent time together and people ate.  But for some reason, the idea of Poe seeing him go back for second helpings of dessert, or get ketchup on his shirt, or wipe salt and grease off on his jeans...  It was unbearable, for a little while, and even more so because he didn't have the words to say just why it was so embarrassing.  
  
He understands it now.  The strange mix of resentment and longing, sometimes bordering on obsession, usually manifesting itself through expressions of complete indifference -- he knows what it was.  Why it was so all-consuming.  It makes sense, now.

_When you said Snoke saw things in you that you hadn't yet admitted to yourself.  Can you explain what you meant by that?_  
  
It doesn't totally take away the awkwardness of tzatziki dripping down his chin while he tries to keep his gyro from falling apart into his lap, but it makes it easier to handle.  
  
And, too, he knows how much this matters to Poe.  To see Ben putting himself back together.  To know he's going to be all right.  Somehow, inexplicably, Poe cares.    
  
It's not what Ben was expecting.  It's not even really what he'd wanted.  A lot of things would've been easier if Poe's indifference was genuine instead of feigned.  Because Ben's not indifferent either and never has been.  He knows when Poe is worried, upset, frightened.  He hates knowing that it's over him.  That it's his fault.  
  
This helps, though.  Letting Poe take care of him, it helps.  
  
His life might've been easier if he'd learned to do it sooner, but he was never as quick  a study as people tried to tell him he was.  
  
Poe steals a fry from his plate, grins at him as he eats it.  His eyes are anything but casual; he's watching for Ben's response, weighing and measuring it against everything he's learned over these past few months.  Ben, for his part, doesn't try to hide that he's a little flattered by the gesture.  Poe was always a flirt; it's just part of his nature.  It's nothing personal.  But Ben appreciates it now just as much as he hated it when he was younger, and for the same reasons.  
  
"You know what we should do, before you and Rey head off to Ann Arbor," Poe says.  "We should go to Golden Fleece again.  I mean, this isn't bad, but.  Remember that?  That time we went to Golden Fleece?  Best gyros in the state, man."  
  
Ben doesn't remember a damn thing about the food at Golden Fleece.  What he remembers is this: sitting in the passenger seat of Poe's new car, driving into the city, into the actual city of Detroit with someone who was not his parents or even really an adult yet.  Windows down and the wind in Poe's hair, Poe singing along to the radio -- 89X; they were playing something by Echo and the Bunnymen.  It probably wasn't "Lips Like Sugar," but of course that's what Ben hears in his head now.  He'd sat so stiffly in the seat; he hadn't known what to do with his hands.  He kept looking at Poe and then looking away again, out at the world beyond his open window.  It had been bright that day, probably late June or early July.  Everything seemed so sharp-edged.  
  
_And had you been attracted to other boys before this?_  
  
"I remember," he says.  He'd hung close to Poe, more from nerves than anything else.  Detroit seemed dirty, noisy, crowded.  Poe fit there, of course; Poe fit everywhere you put him.  Ben didn't, but then he never really had.  "You'd just gotten your license and were showing off.  Again."    
  
"You always say that," Poe says; he sounds a little grateful.  There are other things, of course, that Ben could've said.  _That was right before I went to Cranbrook._   Or:  _That was right before you started at Columbia._   But they've had that conversation already, and Ben's not sure he can do it again right now.  Maybe it's selfish, but he just can't hold Poe's guilt for him today.  "Was I really that bad?"  
  
"Sometimes."  Sometimes Ben thought it was for his benefit, somehow.  Like Poe was trying to prove something to him.  It pissed him off, then.  Not so much anymore.  "I don't know.  I mean...  Kids do that, though.  Not all of them, but some.  They want to impress people around them.  They want to be special.  It happens."  
  
He regrets the word almost as soon as he's said it.  _Special_.  Ben was always Special.  Awkward, sure.  Weird, definitely.  But everyone said he had so much promise  He was going to do so many great things.  Even Snoke said so.  
  
It's not always such a bad thing, defying expectations.  The best years of his life have been those ones he spent being utterly ordinary.  
  
"Well, I guess you've got more experience with that than I would," Poe says, and steals another fry.  Keeping the conversation on safe ground.  Careful, so careful.  "Although I don't know if I can believe Rey would show off.  She doesn't seem the type."  
  
Ben always used to wait for the day Rey got embarrassed about him picking her up from classes, wanted him to wait outside for her, out of view of her friends.  It never came.  She was forever dragging him up to her teachers, her classmates, their parents, and introducing him:  _This is Ben.  He's my brother.  I live with him._ She spent three straight years responding to every compliment about her hair with _My brother braids it for me_.  By the time her first prom finally came around, all her friends were begging to come to their house to get ready, so Ben could fix their hair.  His hands were so cramped the next day that he could hardly hold a cup of coffee.  It was worth it.  
  
"She has her moments," Ben says, and doesn't feel the need to go into detail.  How much it means that so many of those moments involve him.  How fucking grateful he is that she knows she's allowed to be proud of whatever she wants, whether it's him or something else.  "Not many, but she has her moments."  
  
Poe doesn't respond for a little while; he just watches Ben, something soft settling on his face, staying there.  He gets this look whenever Ben talks about Rey too much; it's harder to take than his sympathy or his guilt.  Ben has yet to figure out how to deal with it.  
  
He flushes and turns away, like he's suddenly engrossed by a nearby waitress filling salt and pepper shakers.    
  
_And did you ever act on those attractions?_  
  
"She's a good kid," Poe says, calling him back.  "I'm glad you two found each other."  
  
"I am, too," Ben says, and finally sets his gyro down.  A shower of lettuce and roughly half the meat falls out of the remnants of the pita, and he sighs and reaches for a fork.    
  
"She hasn't been to Greektown yet," Poe continues, like he meant for the conversation to head in this direction all along.  Ben might've honestly thought he had, once.  Now he's pretty sure that Poe's just flying by the seat of his pants.  Flirting by default.  "We should go, the three of us.  Get gyros, wander around a little bit.  Do something that's not about Snoke for a change.  It'd be nice."  
  
"Yeah," Ben says, exhaustion making him agreeable.  He tries to picture it: sunlight, crowded sidewalks, grimy awnings.  Rey's hand in his and Poe's dark curls bobbing along ahead of them.  He can't quite seem to make it come into focus.  But he appreciates the sentiment.  "We should do that."  
  
Poe smiles at him and steals another fry.  Flirting by default.  
  
Ben keeps working on his gyro under Poe's watchful eye.  
  
  
*  
  
  
"I'm not sorry," Rey says, standing in the doorway of his bedroom, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped protectively around herself, every inch of her asking for forgiveness.  
  
Ben just looks up at her, elbows on his knees and hands still pulling at his hair.  Thirteen years ago, he'd have been sobbing on his bed over this slight.  Their fights have never really changed, just the way they react to them.  They panic a little less now.  A little.  
  
"It was a low blow," he reminds her.  He'll forgive her anyway, probably already has, but that doesn't mean it was fair.    
  
_You told me you'd never leave me behind._  
  
Like he wouldn't come home as soon as everything was done with.  Like he wouldn't come back to her.  Like the last thirteen years hadn't proven just how much he was willing to sacrifice to be with her.  
  
Rey crosses the few steps from the door to his bed, sits down next to him, hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder.  "You're an idiot," she says.  "Look, I'm not letting you do this without me.  I don't care about being valedictorian.  I don't care about college.  I care about you.  You _need_ me."  
  
He does; that's the whole point.  He could have his mother, his father, his grandfather, Poe, Hux -- everyone in the world could be with him, and it wouldn't matter without Rey.  "It's not like I'm moving to Detroit tomorrow," he points out, a little too sharply.  "It's an interview.  It's not even a full deposition."  Yet.  "I'll go down on a Thursday, meet the prosecutors Friday, be back by Monday afternoon.  It's really not a big deal."  
  
"Then it's not a big deal if I go, either," Rey points out, and Ben groans and flops backward on the bed, hands coming up to cover his face.  He probably should've seen that coming.  "I'm coming with you, Ben.  If you try to leave me behind, I'll borrow Ariane's car and follow you.  Your mom'll let me in if I show up at her house.  You know she will."  
  
"You've never even met my mom," Ben says, because she's right and he can't quite admit it.  "Rey..."  He lets his hands fall away from his face, landing palms-up on the mattress by his shoulders, tacit surrender.  "I know it's ridiculous.  I know I'm overreacting.  I just don't want you anywhere near him, even if --"  
  
His mom says he won't have to go anywhere near Snoke again.  She says that even if there is a deposition, Snoke won't be there for it.  That there's no way a judge will let him out of prison and put the two of them in a room together.  
  
Ben already knows that that's exactly what the judge is going to do.  That it's going to end exactly the way it began, with Ben walking into a room to meet that thin smile.  What happens then -- well, he'll do his best.    
  
But he's afraid.  Snoke climbed into his head so easily.  It took so long to get him out.  He's older, now, and he knows better, and he doesn't want to think Snoke will get to him again.  But he could.  Ben's not arrogant enough to pretend he couldn't.  
  
"You remember how I was," Ben says, and feels the first tears finally start prickling at his eyes.  "When we left.  You remember how --  I don't want to put you through that again.  It was...  It was hard for you.  This isn't going to be any better."  
  
Rey sighs and sinks down next to him, her head on his chest and her arm stretching over his stomach.  He curls an arm around her shoulders, presses his cheek to her forehead.  "I remember what you were like when we left," Rey says.  "And I remember that you said the only reason you managed to leave at all was because I was with you.  And that's why I'm coming back with you.  And you won't stop me."  Her arm tightens around him, as though he's already trying to run.    
  
He won't, of course.  He was never really able to deny Rey anything she wanted, even if he didn't understand why she wanted it.  And this he understands.  "No matter what happens," he says, voice a little rough, a little choked.  "You're always going to be my sister.  You know that, right?  And I love you more than anything."  
  
"Then tell me I'm coming with you," Rey insists, and Ben sighs and kisses her forehead.  
  
"Of course you are," he says, and feels her finally relax a little, not holding on so tight.  "Of course.  I won't leave you behind, I promise."  
  
He wraps his other arm around her, holds her close.    
  
"I love you," Rey says.  "And you're always gonna be my brother.  And I'm gonna take care of you.  I won't let him get to you again.  I promise."  
  
The funny thing is, if anyone can promise that, it's going be her.  She doesn't even have to do anything.  Just knowing she's counting on him to come back is enough.  
  
  
*  
  
  
It's another week before he realizes that he can't do it.    
  
He's been forbidden to fast any longer; now he takes his meals with Snoke himself, cringing under his gaze as he picks dutifully at his potato salad and baked beans, still hearing his chastisement over and over again: _I appreciate your zeal, Kylo, but you must be careful not to let yourself get carried away.  God needs you whole and strong for the work that's ahead of you._  
  
It's true, of course.  Snoke sees everything so clearly.  Kylo'd become over-reliant on that particular tool, used it until it broke in his hands.  Nearly broke himself in the process. He needs another way to get close to God.  A better way.  
  
He can't seem to find one.  
  
He reads Revelations 6 over and over again.  He meditates in Snoke's attic for as long as he's allowed -- holed up in that close, hot darkness, sweating through his clothes, choking on his own dry tongue.  He eats and drinks under Snoke's watchful gaze.  He sits alone in the back at meetings, letting Snoke's words pierce through him.    
  
And after the meetings, he goes out to the range with the gun Snoke gave him, loads a fresh clip and tries to map the whole situation out in his head -- the car, the police officer, the gun heavy in his hands.  _Blue uniform_ , he tells himself.  _Crew cut.  Stern face._  
  
And when he can see the man in front of him, see everything so clearly it's like he's already there, he raises the gun.  And every time, the officer turns into someone else.  His mother.  His father.  His grandfather -- not Anakin, who he's only met through Snoke's stories, but Bail Organa, smiling and kind, reaching out to Kylo even as the gun reaches back for him.  Sometimes he even sees Luke.    
  
Poe.  
  
Hux.  
  
He can't do it.  
  
He has yet to fire the gun, after a week of trying.  
  
The worst thing is, he can't even bring himself to confess his doubts.    
  
He should, he knows.  Snoke can see what's inside his heart; he always has.  It will be worse for Kylo if he doesn't confess willingly.  But if he tells Snoke what he's seen, the visions of his parents, his family, he's afraid of what would come next.  
  
He's afraid Snoke would ask him to kill them, too.  
  
And he can't do it.  
  
He is so very, very lost.  
  
And then Hux tells him _If you can't, then I will._  
  
  
*  
  
  
It's dark by the time they hit Ypsilanti and Ben watches the road pass by outside the passenger side window, listening to Poe singing softly with the radio --  
  
_Oh baby can't you see_  
_Honey you would bury me_  
  
\-- drifts, a little, remembering how the way the Caprice shuddered as he pushed the pedal down, hanging close to the speed limit so he wouldn't get pulled over, headlights cutting through the darkness and no one behind him although he kept looking, kept checking the rearview, waiting for someone behind him (he has never really liked anyone behind him, likes his back to the wall, his face to the door, able to see who's coming, who's going), Rey fast asleep in the backseat like she felt safe, like she genuinely thought Ben could protect her from Snoke.  
  
_Why didn't you come forward as soon as you'd left the First Order?_  
  
He did, though, that's the funny thing.  He shouldn't have been able to, but he did.  For thirteen years, he kept them both safe, and he's starting to think that maybe, just maybe, he's pulled off the impossible again.  
  
"You awake?"  Poe's voice is so soft that it's barely audible over the radio -- _Bad credit?  No credit?  No problem!_ \-- like he's genuinely prepared to let Ben sleep if he's finally managed to wear himself out.  Probably he is.  Poe is like that.  
  
But Ben's not asleep, and he likes Poe too much to fake it.  "Mostly," he says, without taking his eyes from his own reflection translucent over the tall grass blurring past them on the shoulder.    
  
_Willow Run.  Detroit Metro Airports.  Follow 94 East._  
  
Poe tries to wait him out, can't quite do it.  "You want to talk about it?"  
  
Maybe.  Maybe not.  Poe's been a good audience so far, but some things are harder to say than others.  Ben might've thought that he'd gotten the worst of it all out already, but it turns out there's still a little left.  He stalls.  "Am I allowed to say no?"  
  
He glances at Poe just in time to see him shrug.  In the dim lights of the dashboard, his face is unreadable, not much more than a profile.  Dark curls, strong nose, nice jaw.  It's possible, maybe, that he's still a little infatuated with Poe Dameron.  "You're not under oath anymore," Poe reminds him.  "And you don't owe me anything.  But I'd like to help, if I can."  
  
_I'm here to help you tell the truth_ , Poe said, when this all started.  Not to comfort him, not to protect him.  To help him tell the truth.  He needs that help, now.    
  
"I remember when we left the First Order," Ben says, and turns back to the window.  Easier to stare at his own reflection than to watch Poe's reactions.  "I remember wondering how far Snoke would let me run before he finally reeled me back in."

_You were afraid.  And what, exactly, were you afraid of?_

"I thought...  I thought he could do anything.  Anything at all.  I thought he had to know that I was leaving, where I was, what I was planning to do.  And that sooner or later, when he grew tired of waiting for me to come back on my own, he'd come get me.  Or come kill me, either way.  Honestly, when my mom called me, when she told me about the appeal, there was a part of me that still thought -- 'Oh, guess he's finally had enough.'  That he was calling me home.  And that he'd be able to do it, because he could do anything.  He was God's right hand.  
  
"But he never was, was he?  He's just a person.  Everything he said...  He was just making it up.  Taking bits and pieces from the Bible and books and movies and everything else and stitching it together into something that sounded halfway plausible.    
  
"But I..."  He bites his lip, stares at the reflection of his pale face staring back at him.  Tries to imagine, just for a moment, the reflection he might have seen thirteen years ago.  Short hair tucked behind enormous ears.  Sunburned nose.  An awkward kid with features too big for his face who somehow, impossibly, honestly thought he'd been touched by God.  "I saw things, Poe.  I felt things.  And most of it --  Snoke was always with me, or I thought he was with me and it was nearly the same thing.  I knew what he wanted me to see, to hear, to feel.  That doesn't matter much to me.    
  
"But the moment I realized I was really going to leave.  When I saw Rey sitting there by herself, and I knew --  And I felt something, then.  I really did.  Something I've never experienced before or after.  It was so...  _powerful_.  But I don't know anymore, Poe.  I don't know.  You know, I've believed in a lot of weird stuff, and all of it was just a lie.  What if --  What if that was just me?  In my head, looking for a way out, giving myself a reason to --"

_And do you still think this man talks to God?_  
  
"I'm gonna pull over for a second," Poe says, very calmly, and then the car is slowing down and they're shaking their way over the rumble strip, then on to the shoulder, tires spitting out gravel until finally, they're all the way off the road, completely still.  
  
Someone streaks by them, laying on their horn, and Poe looks up at their retreating tail lights and gravely gives them the finger.  
  
All Ben can do is stare at him.  This isn't what Poe usually does.  This isn't how he usually helps.  For a moment, he's a little afraid of what's coming next.    
  
Finally, Poe turns to Ben.  "Okay," he says.  "So I'm guessing you don't remember staying with us after my mom died."  
  
It's unexpected.  Ben tries his best to remember, though, tries to play along with Poe's game.  He remembers Shara Bey, her dark curls and her kind smile.  She was small, he thinks, like his mother.  She was tough, also like his mother.  But when he tries to remember her dying, the funeral, anything --    
  
"No," he says, finally.  "I guess I don't."  
  
"We were kind of sitting shiva for her, I guess."  Poe shifts in his seat so he's facing Ben more fully, even though it's still really too dark for either of them to see each other.  They could turn the dome light on, but Ben's not going to be the one to do it.  "I don't think my dad really knew how, and he was too...  Too overwhelmed, I guess, to go the rabbi.  Although I'm sure he would've helped; he was good like that.  But it was me and him and my Aunt Vanessa in the house, alone, after the funeral, and you and your parents came to check up on us.  You hugged everyone; I remember that.  Because you weren't ever really a hugger, but you hugged all three of us, even my Aunt Vanessa, who you'd never seen before.  And then you sat down next to me -- we didn't have boxes or low stools or anything, so I was just sitting on the couch, and you reached out and just touched my hand, just like this."  
  
He reaches across the console between the seats, rests his hand on Ben's.  A little higher and it would be exactly where he'd had it during the majority of the deposition, right above Ben's father's watch.    
  
Ben swallows hard.  
  
"When it was time to go, your parents came and brought you your coat, and you looked up at them, and --  And I remember this so clearly:  you looked up at them and said, 'I can't go home until Poe feels better.  And he doesn't yet.  I have to stay.'"  
  
Poe's hand tightens around Ben's, weaving their fingers together.  Even in the dark, Ben can see his smile.  It looks a little forced.  
  
"Which...  I mean, personally, I thought I was doing a pretty good job of acting normal, but I guess you saw through it.  Anyway, your parents tried to explain to you -- there's a limit to how long you can visit during shiva, and also your mom had work to do, and it's going to be a long time before Poe feels better, and that's normal, and it's fine, and..."    Poe brushes at his eye with the knuckles of his free hand; Ben squeezes the hand holding his. 

He doesn't remember much about Poe's mother, and he doesn't remember her dying at all, but he does remember the way Poe's eyes changed after it happened.    
  
They never really changed back.  
  
"And so they had all these reasons why you should leave, and you were so calm -- you didn't scream, or fight, or cry, but you absolutely would not be moved.  And I guess  eventually you got a little frustrated, I think, because you interrupted your mother, which you never did, and said, 'God wants me to stay with Poe.'"  
  
Ben's breath catches in his chest, stays held there.  He doesn't remember this.  He doesn't remember any of this.  But he believes Poe is telling him the truth, and there's something terrifying in that.  
  
"Just like that.  'God wants me to stay with Poe because He doesn't have hands, but I do.'  Because that was something my mom always used to say, or a version of it, anyway.  That God has no hands but ours.  I'm not sure where you would've heard it; I don't know if it was from her or someone else, maybe even God, who knows?  Or maybe not.  I don't know.  
  
"But they stopped trying to argue with you after that.  Your parents, my dad, Aunt Vanessa -- She said she'd take you home when you were ready,  and your dad went and got you some clothes, and then you just...  stayed.  For the whole week, you sat with us.  With me, most of the time, although if my dad needed me you'd go be with Aunt Vanessa for a while, and once or twice you sat with him yourself.  I guess you thought he needed you, then.  And you slept on the floor of my room in a sleeping bag because you wouldn't let me give you my bed, because you were too much of a gentleman."  The smile comes back again.  Even in the dark, Ben has always been able to see Poe's smile.  "And you read to me every night.  I had all these Hardy Boys mysteries, and you read those to me, and tucked me in, and then went to go sleep in your sleeping bag.  And if I needed tissues or a hug or anything, you always made sure I got it.  I never even had to ask.  You were just...  right on top of it.  
  
"And you know me, Ben.  I'm not that religious.  But I guess if you asked me what I think happened with Rey --  I think it was the same thing that happened after my mother died.  And I don't know what that was, exactly.  But I know it had nothing to do with Snoke.  It was just you, trying to serve God to the best of your ability by taking care of someone who needed that care.  And I'm really, really grateful for that.  And I know Rey is too."  
  
It's a softer landing, maybe, than they really deserve.  He appreciates it anyway.  The idea that he can be good, that he can help, that he's worth being grateful for.  
  
He wipes at his eyes, and Poe squeezes his hand.  
  
"Thanks," he says, when he can finally speak.  
  
Poe smiles at him, soft and warm and strangely comforting.  "You're welcome," he says.  He shifts in his seat again, almost curling towards Ben, his cheek resting against the back of his headrest.  Ben mimics his posture, still clinging to his hand.  
  
He'd watched Rey sleep like this sometimes, those first few days.  Terrified she'd be stolen from him if he wasn't right there with her, that she'd be taken someplace he couldn't find her, and he'd lose everything he had left.  
  
He wonders what he was afraid of after Poe's mother died.  
  
"I just want him out of my head, Poe," he says, when he can't keep it inside anymore.  "I just want him gone."  
  
"I know," Poe says, and doesn't tell him it'll happen someday.  Poe doesn't say anything he can't prove.  He just reaches up and cups Ben's cheek in his hand, smooths a thumb over his cheekbone, and Ben leans gratefully into his touch.  
  
He wonders what Poe has been afraid of, these last few weeks.  
  
He has a lot to choose from.  
  
"You want me stay in the guest room tonight?" Poe asks.  They've done this a few times now, after the second interview with the DA and the first and third visits with the psychiatrist.  Poe has never actually slept in the guest room, of course; he stays up to watch bad movies on SyFy with Ben and Rey, the three of them curled up near each other on the ridiculously oversized sectional.  They never have blankets when they pass out; they always wake up neatly tucked in.  Neither of Ben's parents will admit to it, but it could be either of them.  Maybe they take turns.  
  
"Please?"  
  
"Sure thing," Poe tells him, smiling again.  He's still stroking Ben's cheek, still holding his hand.  
  
Ben's not sure what this moment means; it's not a flirtation, and it doesn't just feel like comfort, although it's very comforting.  It could be anything, or nothing, fear or guilt or affection or all three.  It could be something Poe learned from Ben, years ago.  It could be a debt repaid.  It could be anything at all.    
  
He doesn't really care what it is, as long as it doesn't end too soon.  
  
"We should get moving," he says, testing, and is immensely relieved when Poe doesn't pull away even an inch.  
  
"We've got time," Poe tells him.  "We've got plenty of time."  
  
  
*  
  
  
Tomorrow, he'll pray with his Uncle Luke.  They've already made arrangements for him to meet them at the county building an hour before Snoke's arrival, one last chance to build up Ben's defenses before Snoke has his chance to tear them all down again.  
  
Tonight, though, he prays with Rey, the two of them kneeling side-by-side next to his old bed, his hands clasped between hers.  They don't pray out loud; they never really have, and it would seem strange to start now.  Anyway, he already knows what Rey's praying for.  She's praying for him.  
  
He should pray for the same, of course.  He can't quite make himself begin.  Either he's done the work or he hasn't.  He's ready or he isn't.  He's strong enough or he's not.  But God has taken him as far as He can; the rest is up to Ben.    
  
With nothing else to say, he falls back on the habits of gratitude Luke taught him so many years before.  
  
_Thank You for Rey.  Thank You for the way she knows me, the way she protects me.  Thank You for the way she stands up to me.  She's a lot smarter than me.  I'm grateful for that, and I'm glad she's there to correct me when I take too much on myself._  
  
_Thank You for my mother and my father.  Thank You for bringing them together, however temporary it might be.  Thank You for letting them find comfort in one another, and thank You for bringing them here to comfort Rey.  She'll need them, tomorrow.  I'm glad she'll have them.  I know it's no substitute for her own mother, but at least she's not alone._  
  
_Thank You for Uncle Luke.  Thank You for his kindness and his patience and his wisdom.  Thank You for opening my heart to his words.  I'll listen to him tomorrow; I promise.  I'll carry him in my heart like armor._  
  
_Thank You for Poe._  
  
He stops, there, not sure how to go on.  How to properly express his thanks for Poe's constant, quiet presence in his darkest moments.    
  
It doesn't matter, really.  God knows.  
  
_Thank You for the help You've given me.  Thank You for giving me a way to protect other people from Snoke.  Thank You for giving me the strength to endure this and the willingness to tell the truth._  
  
_I will be honest tomorrow.  I will be strong.  I will not hide from the truth.  I will do Your will._  
  
_I will stop him.  I promise._  
  
With nothing left to say, he stays where he is, head bowed, folded hands pressed between Rey's, until she lets out a long deep breath and kisses the side of his head, the sign that she's finally done.  
  
He climbs into bed she turns the lights out and then joins him there, the two of them laying on their sides on top of the blankets, facing each other, their hands crossing the space between them to link together.  
  
Neither of them speaks.  There's nothing left to say.  
  
He'll do his job, and then he'll come back to her, and they'll start over again.  
  
  
*  
  
  
_If it be Thy will._  
  
He doesn't know what to think anymore.  
  
Hux, who has never put himself through a half of what Kylo has suffered.  Who has never fasted, or spent hours in meditation, or gone to the field to fight anyone who'd come to him (and they all came, because that was their duty -- it was their responsibility to train him to suffer and they took it so very seriously).  Hux, who sees no visions, who barely glances at the Bible.  Who may not even believe in God, or even Snoke himself.  
  
Hux, who Snoke told him repeatedly could not be trusted.  Should not be confided in.  Would manipulate him, twist him, use him.  Would eventually betray him.  
  
Hux, who is now apparently Kylo's replacement.  
  
_If it be Thy will._  
  
Lying.  He has to be.  The only explanation that makes sense, the only possible thing.  This is his moment; this is his attempt to undermine everything they've worked so hard for.  Giving Kylo this false hope.  Letting him believe there's a way to avoid God's will.  So he won't act, won't do what he must do, won't open the seal and let loose the rider on the red horse, won't begin the great and final war --  
  
But he knew.  He knew everything.  Only Kylo and Snoke were in the attic that day, and there's no one else that Snoke confides in.  
  
Is there?  
  
Snoke has said, repeatedly, that there isn't.  Snoke doesn't lie to him.  The others, yes, but they're different.  They don't have Kylo's understanding.  It's different for him.  It's always been different.  
  
But Hux _knew_.  
  
"Kylo?"  
  
He's already plastering a smile on his face even before he's realized that he recognizes the voice.  Rey.  Rey with her books, her smiles, her head stubbornly held so high.  She's sitting on the steps of the weapons shed, no one else with her; when he looks at her, she's already turned away from him, as if suddenly ashamed that she spoke.  
  
She's displeased Plutt again.  She's being shunned.  
  
_Don't worry about the girl_ , Snoke told him, the last time they spoke of Rey and Plutt.  _She's not important.  We have far more pressing matters, you and I._   And Kylo had bowed his head in agreement, but even then a part of him wanted to protest.  Because Rey is important.  She could be so important, if only --  
  
In a moment of terrifying rebellion, Kylo draws in a deep breath and crosses to where Rey's sitting, plunks himself down next to her.    
  
She blinks up at him in astonishment, and then the corners of her lips quirk up in the smallest of smiles.    
  
"Hi," Kylo says, and this time when he smiles at her it feels more real, not something he's faking just to stop her from worrying.  He doesn't know exactly what it is about Rey that feels so familiar to him, but every time he sees her it's like something within him lights up.  Like seeing the face of God.  
  
_If it be Thy will._  
  
Rey looks over her shoulder quickly, like she's checking to see if anyone's around them.  Then she leans in a little, to whisper "Hi," back at him.  
  
_If it be Thy will._  
  
He's too stunned.  He can't speak.  He reaches out and takes Rey's hand, holds it, feels something -- a memory of a boy who couldn't speak, taking care of him.  _God told me to stay with you_.  He doesn't know who it was, doesn't know if it really happened, doesn't much care either way.  
  
_If it be Thy will._  
  
He's so giddy with it, with the light and the peace and the calm and the knowing that he almost tells her what's going to happen next.  How they're going to run, the two of them together.  And she can go to a real school, and wear pants whenever, and uncover her hair and read every book that she wants to, and he'll never shun her or tell her not to speak, and there won't be any war, and the world won't end, and they'll be okay.  Everything is going to be okay.    
  
_If it be Thy will._  
  
He doesn't tell her.  There's still things to do, plans to make -- not many; he doesn't know when Snoke will call for him, to send him on his final mission.  Can't count on Hux being called instead -- he already made it clear enough that he was being held in reserve in case Kylo failed.  
  
But he won't fail.  Not at this.    
  
He will save Rey and stop the war and do everything God commands of him.  He will.    
  
There was a reason for all of it.  It just wasn't what he expected it to be.  
  
"Why are you smiling?" Rey asks, and Kylo only smiles wider.    
  
"Because I'm happy," he says, and for the first time in a long time, it might even be the truth.  
  
  
*  
  
  
He used to dream about coming home. 

The first few months in that too-small apartment, curled up on the couch and waking up with his legs cramped and aching, Rey sulking through getting ready for school, putting his hairnet on and chopping onions or stirring giant pots of sloppy joe mix, burning his arms on the oven trays and telling himself over and over again that when it was time, he would pack Rey's lunches himself because no way was he making her eat this -- Driving around delivering newspapers with Rey in the passenger seat after, the way she'd stare out the window at other people's houses, big and clean and with nicely manicured lawns and bicycles and new cars.  Trying to make the grocery money stretch.  Trying to pay the rent.  Trying not to ask Maz for money because she was already paying his car insurance and the bill for the cell phone she'd given him but Jesus he just wanted to sleep in a real bed for a change, just once --  
  
He'd dream of his mother's house, then, and call it home.  
  
And then home became the apartment.  And then another apartment, and another, and another.  And then the little house out in the middle of nowhere, with all their second-hand furniture crammed into it, the wood stove in the living room and the out-of-tune piano the old owner had left behind that Rey was always messing around with. The narrow kitchen; the deep, claw-foot tub.  Dirt roads to run on in the summer when everything was hot and dry and sunlit and beautiful; the sound of Rey's quick light steps just barely audible over his, heavier, slower.  Bonfires in the backyard sometimes, teenage girls laughing.  Braiding hair in the living room while they fluttered around him in their bright dresses, zipping each other up and fixing their lipstick.  
  
That's all gone now, of course.  They could go back for another week or so now that the deposition is over, but it wouldn't feel the same.  It'll never be home again, and his mother's house isn't home either, not really.  
  
Home is somewhere he hasn't found yet.  Home is a place he's still looking for.  
  
Or, maybe, home is sitting folded up on the swing on his mother's front porch, feet tucked underneath her, staring intently at Poe's car as he pulls into the driveway behind Ben's old truck and throws it into park.  He cuts the engine with a turn of the key and Ben lets himself sag back into his seat for just a moment.    
  
He knows Rey won't ask him much, and his parents won't ask him anything at all.  They'll wait for him to be ready to talk, and there's no way it's going to be tonight.  
  
He still feels better knowing Poe will be next to him.  Just in case.  
  
"Poe," he says, and finally manages to turn.  He can't really see Poe's face in the dim light.  Probably better that way.  "Thank you.  For being there.  It really helped."  
  
No answer.  Poe turns slowly to look at him, his face unreadable.  He reaches out with one hand, tangles his fingers in the hair at the nape of Ben's neck and pulls him in until their foreheads are pressed together.  Ben's seat belt is cutting into his shoulder and the side of his neck; Poe's breath smells faintly of garlic.  Ben still doesn't know what to do with his hands.  
  
"You won," Poe says, finally.  "Remember that.  Even with him in your head, even after everything he did to you today.  You still won.  Don't let him convince you that you didn't."  
  
"I'm trying," Ben says, because that's all he has.  "I'm trying."  
  
The tip of Poe's nose brushes against his.  They hang like that for a moment, together, and then slowly break apart as the position becomes too uncomfortable to hold, Ben's hair slipping slowly through Poe's fingers.  
  
He's not entirely sure what just happened.  Maybe, once things have settled down, he'll try to figure it out.  
  
Not right now, though.  
  
"We probably shouldn't make Rey wait any longer," Poe says, and unbuckles his seatbelt.  Ben watches him climb out of the car.  It's not until Poe's door slams shut that he realizes he should probably do the same thing.    
  
Poe is waiting for him by the front bumper.  Their hands brush as they walk towards the house, side by side.  
  
Rey rises from the swing, bare feet just visible beneath her long skirt, and hurries down the steps to meet them.  She doesn't quite throw herself at Ben, not in front of Poe, but she's in his arms the moment he's got them open, clinging to him with her face pressed to his chest.  
  
Ben rests his cheek on her hair, holds on every bit as tightly.    
  
Sometimes he still feels it, an echo of that moment on the stairs of the Children's House, so long ago.  How right everything felt, how sure he was.  How easy it was to believe.  
  
It's always been easy with Rey, even if it was hard.  
  
"Did you do it?" Rey asks.  "Did you stop him?"  
  
"Yeah," Ben says, and glances over at Poe for just a moment, just to see him smile, before he lets his eyes fall shut.  "Yeah, we stopped him."  
  
_We_.  And that could mean a lot of things; Ben's not interested in choosing one.  All he knows is that he wasn't alone, and that's all he needs to know.  
  
Rey shifts in his arms, one hand groping blindly for something.  Ben doesn't know what it is until her hand stills, until he feels Poe's other hand come to rest, lightly, on his waist.  
  
_It's going to be okay._    
  
He might have said that to Poe once, a long time ago.  He doesn't remember, and Poe didn't say, but he might have.  He could like that, maybe.  That kind of an echo.  God's promise to all of them.  
  
"Thanks, Poe," Rey murmurs, and Ben doubts he even hears it, but it doesn't matter.  
  
They're going to be okay.  
  
  
*  
  
  
There is a moment, standing on the threshold of the children's room, where the terror rises up to choke Kylo, so thick and so strong that he can't move to shake it, can't move at all, absolutely paralyzed by fear.  
  
It's the end of the world, the way Snoke always predicted it.  Come sooner than expected, because of Kylo.  Because of his doubts and his treachery.  
  
But the sky doesn't open.  The floor doesn't swallow him up.  The children sleep safely in their beds, undisturbed by his presence.  
  
All but Rey, who stirs.  Sits up, blinking at him through the heavy shadows of the room.  She can't possibly recognize him from this distance, in this darkness, but she must somehow, because she smiles.  
  
Kylo's moving before he's even realized the spell is broken, reaching out to scoop Rey into his arms, her arms winding around his neck and her legs tight around his waist.  She doesn't even ask any questions, like she already knows.  
  
Like God has already told her.    
  
Maybe He has.    
  
Kylo crouches low enough to snag Rey's teddy bear and blanket from the bed.  He clutches them both in one hand, keeps the other arm tight around Rey's waist to hold her steady.  "Come on," he murmurs, as she shifts and sighs and presses her face to his neck.  "Let's go."  
  
He carries her out of the building, out to the waiting Caprice, and the two of them drive off together into a new world.

**Author's Note:**

> For the record: I am not a lawyer. I don't really understand how a deposition would work in a criminal appeal. I'm going off cursory research and what seems plausible to me as a layman, hence the paring down of the deposition scenes to a very few choice quotes in the Ben/Poe scenes.
> 
> Title comes from ["Mineshaft II," by Dessa](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g7KmfxVFomY).


End file.
